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A Picture from Edna

“Confederate Soldiers – Defenders of the Rights of the States” — “Love Makes Memory Eternal.”

Courthouse Square, Charlottesville, Virginia

The image, Confederate Monument, was originally uploaded by Edna Barney. It is posted here from Barneykin’s flickr account.

Visit Neddy’s Archives for more of Edna’s writings.

President Woodrow Wilson


A Picture from Edna

President Woodrow Wilson spoke to us yesterday in honor of Presidents’ Day at the Lyceum in Alexandria. Wilson is considered one of our native Virginian presidents, hence the honor. Mr. Wilson mentioned that there is someone out there who is saying mean things about him – Glenn Beck. Ain’t that the truth? HA!

The Lyceum sent out this information:

“One of eight U.S. presidents to be born in Virginia, Woodrow Wilson visited Alexandria on several occasions. On December 18, 1915, President Wilson and his new bride, Edith Galt, secretly traveled to Alexandria’s Union Station to depart for their honeymoon, eluding reporters and disappointing spectators who had gathered at the railroad station in Washington, D.C. On May 30, 1918, President Wilson had the honor of driving the first rivet into the keel of the Gunston Hall, the first ship constructed at the Virginia Shipbuilding Corporation yard at Jones Point. Decades later, the bridge spanning the Potomac River, connecting Maryland with Alexandria at Jones Point, would be named for President Wilson.”

Historian Brian K. Hilton performed excellently in the portrayal of Woodrow Wilson.

The image, President Woodrow Wilson, was originally uploaded by Edna Barney. It is posted here from Barneykin’s flickr account.

Visit Neddy’s Archives for more of Edna’s writings.

Flight of the Bumblebee


A Picture from Edna

Some say that these bees should not be capable of flight, however … this bumblebee received his flying specs from the Master Engineer. As the old song says, … “farther along, we will know all about it.” For now, earthly engineers must continue to delve into the Master’s plans, and bit by bit human knowledge will be enriched.

The image, Flight of the Bumblebee, was originally uploaded by Edna Barney. It is posted here from Barneykin’s flickr account.

Visit Neddy’s Archives for more of Edna’s writings.

The King’s Birthday


The King would have been 76 years old today! I was a teenager when he came on the scene.

I remember well the day when my sons came into the kitchen whilst I was preparing supper and casually announced that Elvis Presley had died. My response was “NO!” Witnessing my emotional shock they responded, “Who was this guy?”

Red Poppy Memories


A Picture from Edna

We cherish too, the Poppy red

That grows on fields where valor led,

It seems to signal to the skies

That blood of heroes never dies. (We Shall Keep the Faith)

In November of 1918, inspired by the poem “In Flanders Fields,” Moina Michael replied with her own poem, cited above. She then conceived of wearing red poppies on Memorial day to honor those who died serving the nation during war. She sold poppies as a fundraiser to benefit needy veterans. When Madam Guerin, a visitor to the United States from France, learned of this new custom she began making artificial red poppies to raise money for French war orphans and widows. The Red Poppy tradition spread to other countries. In 1921, the Franco-American Children’s League sold poppies nationally to benefit war orphans of France and Belgium. The League disbanded a year later and Madam Guerin approached the VFW for help. Shortly before Memorial Day in 1922, the VFW became the first veterans’ organization to nationally sell Red Poppies. Two years later their “Buddy” Poppy program was selling artificial poppies made by disabled veterans. In 1948, the US Post Office honored Moina Michael for founding the National Poppy movement with a three cent postage stamp with her likeness upon it.

The image, Poppy at Lion House, was originally uploaded by Edna Barney. It is posted here from Barneykin’s flickr account.

Visit Neddy’s Archives for more of Edna’s writings.


To Beat the Devil

“If you waste your time a-talkin’ to the people who don’t listen,
To the things that you are sayin’, who do you think’s gonna hear.
And if you should die explainin’ how the things that they complain about,
Are things they could be changin’, who do you think’s gonna care?

“There were other lonely singers in a world turned deaf and blind,
Who were crucified for what they tried to show.
And their voices have been scattered by the swirling winds of time.
‘Cos the truth remains that no-one wants to know.

“Well, the old man was a stranger, but I’d heard his song before,
Back when failure had me locked out on the wrong side of the door.
When no-one stood behind me but my shadow on the floor,
And lonesome was more than a state of mind.

“You see, the devil haunts a hungry man,
If you don’t wanna join him, you got to beat him.
I ain’t sayin’ I beat the devil, but I drank his beer for nothing.
Then I stole his song.

“And you still can hear me singin’ to the people who don’t listen,
To the things that I am sayin’, prayin’ someone’s gonna hear.
And I guess I’ll die explaining how the things that they complain about,
Are things they could be changin’, hopin’ someone’s gonna care.

“I was born a lonely singer, and I’m bound to die the same,
But I’ve got to feed the hunger in my soul.
And if I never have a nickle, I won’t ever die ashamed.
‘Cos I don’t believe that no-one wants to know.”

~~Kris Kristopherson

Whither Go My Words?


The Internet provides us the ability to craft our words into an art-form. We communicate by typing our language onto a screen; we click a button that sends our words into an infinite space. Whither goes our message? Who knows? Out there somewhere, or everywhere?

Communicate we must for combining this modern utility with our art we reveal our character. Our ancient ancestors did the very same with their utility of a natural marker, leaving for the ages a record of their thoughts on the walls of their cave homes.

And so it is with each and every blog post I make. I cast my words, my thoughts, into the ether. Are they communicative? Are they well-crafted words? Are they long-lasting? Are they powerful?